


thicker than water

by dondengaeshi



Series: NCT Vampire AU [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Gen, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma Recovery, murder!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28710120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dondengaeshi/pseuds/dondengaeshi
Summary: Tell me where it hurts,she'd say.Stop howling. Just calm down and show me where.But some people can't tell where it hurts. They can't calm down. They can't ever stop howling.-Margaret Atwood,The Blind Assassin
Series: NCT Vampire AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104584
Kudos: 15





	thicker than water

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is not written in chronological order, and is also largely up to reader's interpretation

There's blood on his hands, seeping into the old wooden floorboards, dripping from expensive cloth, melting into the air around him and filling his lungs with each ragged breath he takes. His hands are shaking. Can't see straight. The grip on the steak knife is painful, but it's the realest thing he knows. 

He's dead. He's dead.

He doesn't feel better.

He knows he wouldn't. That's not why he did it. This was the only way to move things along, to keep himself from sinking into the hole for good, drowning, choking, flailing for another chance he wouldn't get. 

But even here at the end of all things, this must have been predestined. Haechan hadn't been lucky enough to have the red string tied around his finger; no, instead it had been wound around his neck, and as both of their lives went on seperate and peaceful it had grown tighter and tighter. 

And now he's here. Haechan takes careful steps backwards until his back hits the wall behind him, lets himself sink to the floor, listens as black blood drips through the floor and lands on that quiet, quiet floor beneath them. Are they really so thin? How long has he stood here now, staring at this dark work before him? The world twists and morphs itself into something dreadful and made of rage but it's real, it's real and it's here and it's tangible and Haechan made this happen, it was his decision, his hands, his mind, his heart, and this alone is enough, at least for now.

He's here. 

He's alive.

And that's enough.

x

Haechan knows something is wrong when Jaehyun tells him Jeno will be living with them from now on, and the anger he feels is dizzying. 

It takes him a long time to calm down. He can't go outside because the sun is up, and that only exacerbates his rage. He can't understand it, but he isn't at the point where he can even try just yet. Right now his hands are shaking while he sits in the underground cellar watching a spider make its home across barrels of expensive, expensive wine. 

It's a big spider—bigger than the ones back home. It slips off its web a couple times, not quite catching onto the old wood well enough to secure its place. 

He doesn't want Jeno here. He can understand that well enough. The anger is so potent it's stunning, a cold fire in his chest that prevents him from moving, speaking. He wants to find whatever room he had been given and throw him out, tear up all his belongings—if he even had any. Haechan doesn't know.

He doesn't want to know anything about Jeno. He just wants to hurt him. 

x

Jaehyun's home is cold. 

He had woken up with a heavy quilt blanketing him. When he tugged it off himself gently, still reeling from something he could only remember in bits and pieces. His arms were sore, his neck hurt. 

The stone walls surprised him. His legs buckle beneath him when he tries to stand, and he just barely manages to land on his hands. The rug is soft. Burgundy. There's a lantern on the bedside table, a flame that's too still to be real—he thinks he's dreaming. He must be dreaming, because he doesn't know how he can be this calm when he knows something terrible has happened, but his mind isn't running at a million miles an hour. 

He knows someone is missing. It's not supposed to be only him. 

Who is it?

The door to his room creaks open. Haechan doesn't know how he remembers his name.

"You're awake," Jaehyun says. 

Haechan hates his voice more than anything in the world in that moment, and it's gone in a split second. He's still on his hands and knees, blanket wrapped awkwardly around his waist, half on the bed and half piled around him on the floor. He doesn't move when Jaehyun approaches him in small, careful steps. It doesn't bode well. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks, kneeling beside him, and Haechan notices the tray of water and freshly cut oranges. He eyes it warily, doesn't want to release the tension in his body.

"Who are you," he asks, and his heart rises to his throat when he realizes how difficult it is to raise his voice above a whisper. He wants to try again, but his vocal cords won't cooperate. 

"Jung Jaehyun," he tells him. He knew that already. "What's your name?" 

"Lee Donghyuck," he says. Jaehyun sets the platter down on the ground. It's too close. He shuffles backwards slightly. 

Something is wrong. There's a blind spot in his memory, and he's starkly aware of the flood that it's holding back. He holds Jaehyun's eye as resolutely as possible to fend it off. 

Jaehyun takes the hint and puts a little distance between them. 

"I'll need to tend to the wound on your neck. It might get infected." 

Haechan doesn't want to, but he's not stupid. He lifts a hand to the region on his throat that's sore. 

He doesn't let Jaehyun touch him. 

x

Haechan never really cared for poetry. He thinks about all the poems he had to read in school romanticizing the moon, its silent beauty, its nightly dance across the sky. 

He still doesn't care for it. He wishes it would disappear forever. He never wants to be seen again, wishes he was brave enough to walk into those dense woods and never come out.

The horses are still awake. Jaehyun likes to ride on occasion, he learns—doing laps around the orchard, sometimes beyond, when he thinks Haechan wouldn't be paying attention. There's a beaten path through the forest, but he doesn't know where it leads. He's seen Jaehyun leave through there, but he's yet to catch him returning from the same entrance. 

He hates the full moon, but the horses are still awake. There's one that swings its head towards him when he approaches, dark as night, its mane done up in a tight, neat braid. He places a hand on its nose, only jumping a little bit when it shakes its head and whinnies lightly at him. He tries again on its cheek, letting it glide up and up behind its ear and then back down its mane. The hair is tough. The horse whinnies again, but it doesn't shake him off. 

"Oh," someone says, and Haechan whips his head around. The stranger is a young man coming in from around the corner, carrying a bag with brush handles and other equestrian paraphernalia sticking out of it. "Hi. I wasn't expecting anyone else here." 

Haechan doesn't say anything, just watches him. He doesn't know who this person is. He wishes he would leave. 

"Do you like this one?" he asks, referring to the horse. Haechan hasn't lifted his hand. The creature emanates a warmth that he finds comforting. It's summer, but he's not going to be seeing the sun again any time soon. "She's a hardy one. Not too rowdy, though." 

Haechan just stares at him, and the stranger stares back. After his surprise had subsided he had smiled at him, and now it was starting to waver. "My name is Mark, by the way," he introduces. "What's yours?" 

"Donghyuck," he says. 

"Oh, it's you," says Mark. "Jaehyun said there was someone new living at the estate. It's nice to meet you." 

Haechan just nods once. He hadn't really wanted to meet anyone here.

"Um," Mark continues. "I'm just here to tend to the horses. I'll try not to get in your way." 

"Do you live here?" The question pops into Haechan's mind suddenly, and Mark startles a little at the force with which he asks it. Unsympathetic. Haechan needs to know. 

"No, I don't live here. Jaehyun and I just have an agreement."

It's vague, and it's enough of a reason for Haechan to decide that he doesn't want to be here anymore. He disappears back the way he came from, keeping his eyes focused on each flawlessly cut stone brick that passes underfoot until he's back in his room with the door locked, trying to put Mark out of his mind. 

x

Eagle-eyed as he is, Jaehyun is sympathetic, and Haechan wants to be close to him. 

He follows him around the castle in silence, watching him dust the corners and shelves of every room and tend to his garden and organize his cutlery. He's grateful that Jaehyun seems to understand him without words; little gestures like telling him he'll be back when he leaves the room suddenly, or bringing him a glass of water when Haechan can't express that the tea Jaehyun had brought him makes his stomach upset. 

He wishes he could tell him he's grateful. He wishes he could lift his eyes from the ground, ask for things he needs instead of suffering quietly until it becomes too much to bear. 

Jaehyun doesn't force him to do anything. 

He knows he isn't ready. 

x

After Doyoung leaves, Haechan retreats to his room and shuts the door. 

He wants to be sick. Of course he would leave. He doesn't know Haechan, probably doesn't care beyond those pitiful looks. He was stupid, fucking stupid—that's how he ended up here in the first place. Stupid kid, barely out of highschool. He probably deserves this. 

His eyes are blurred with tears as he walks over to the candelabrum on his dresser, snuffs out the wick with the palms of his hands and breaks up the wax of each candle, praying that he might miss one and the room, the castle, this whole world will go up in flames. 

It never does. There's wax mixed with dirt and blood under his fingernails and he doesn't know if humans were ever supposed to feel this much anger.

Doyoung will probably die out there. The man with him—Haechan had seen him at the chateau, too. Doll eyes and his own wonder at being a guest in a place like that had hidden the reality from him, momentarily, that behind pretty lips lay fangs like a snake. You can bedazzle a stalagmite all you want, it can glimmer with the prettiest diamonds and inspire poets for generations, but the truth still remains that should it fall, it'd only take a moment to pierce your skull and rend you from the inside out. 

Haechan thinks he has the right to know this more than anyone else. If Doyoung doesn't know it yet, he soon will. Lee Taeyong will peel the flesh from his bones limb by limb, take his organs for trophies and probably much, much worse, and he won't feel a thing about it.

Part of him hopes Taeyong does exactly that. Then Haechan wouldn't have to deal with this alone. Doyoung would never leave again.

He'd see to it. 

x

"It's hard at first, you know," Jaehyun tells him over dinner once. "Nobody ever said being a survivor was easy." 

It's that awful s-word that makes the world spin, melting around him in greens and golds until all he's aware of is stomach acid burning his throat and the cold ceramic of a toilet seat. 

x

When Haechan talks, he has a bit of a lisp. 

"What was that?" Mark laughs. He's cleaning the hooves of a chestnut stallion while Haechan sits a ways away on a tough hay bale. His fingers dig into the straw while Mark's giggles ring throughout the small stable. 

"I cut my tongue on my fangs," Haechan intones. Mark turns to look at him, mirth morphing into something apologetic, maybe even fearful. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "I wasn't laughing at you. I was just surprised. You don't talk very much, so I wasn't expecting it." 

Haechan digs his fingers in deeper. He wants to lash out, but he doesn't. He sits and listens to the sound of old wood and straw crunching underfoot, of the brush running through horse manes, Mark swearing to himself when they get a bit rowdy. 

Haechan knew the myth about vampires not showing up in mirrors was fake, but he wishes it weren't. Even if the only physical change are the two fangs that are hidden in his mouth, the thought of laying eyes on them makes him nauseous. The lights are off when he brushes his teeth, when he showers, even when he changes. He can't stand to see the Lee Donghyuck that isn't the one he's used to. Even the bite marks on his throat are enough to make him unbearably vertigo—they make him wonder how there can be a merciful God when he's left here to rot with the marks of his trauma bared for all the world to see. 

Maybe now, he thinks, maybe now he can understand why vampires always seemed so viscous. 

x

Jaehyun is in oddly good spirits the first time Jeno sits with them for dinner. He doesn't speak when Jaehyun asks him questions though, content to let Haechan sit far closer to him than necessary and occasionally feed him food from his own plate. 

Honestly, he likes their silent dinners. He has mixed feelings about Jaehyun's trustworthiness, but generally he's quite nice to be around, and his cooking rivals the meals Chenle's chefs would prepare for him on his birthday; which is something he'll never admit out loud. 

"I'm glad you're getting along," he tells Haechan later, when he comes out to find Jaehyun tending to the flowers in the garden. When Haechan doesn't say anything in response, he continues, "Honestly, I don't know if there's very much I can do to help him. He's…"

_A husk of a person, yes,_ Haechan finishes inwardly. "The humans could probably help him better." 

Jaehyun shakes his head. "No, we can't bring Jeno back to the humans. You know how they are. They'll ask questions. Attack us." 

Haechan's heart lurches. "But what about his family?"

"What about yours?" Jaehyun tosses back, and Haechan wants to trip him and watch the rose thorns tear into his eyes. He clenches his jaw.

"I asked about Jeno." 

Jaehyun is quiet for a while, focusing on nipping buds and stems without damaging the whole plant. "Why don't you ask Jeno what he wants, and I'll sort something out." 

Haechan thinks he knows what Jeno's answer will be. He hasn't heard of a single family that hadn't disowned a family member no matter how beloved for becoming a blood-sucking monster.

Still, _still,_ he thinks he knows one person that wouldn't mind.

x

Everytime Haechan blinks his eyes, there's the thunderous crash of glass, the endless clatter of crystals shattering on cold marble floor. Nails digging into his forearm. Splintering wood digging into his shoulder blades.

Chenle's escort had sent him ahead, because Chenle's family wouldn't let a stranger accompany them on the way there. They had planned to meet at the fountain, but the commotion inside was too much for him to ignore. 

He had avoided the drinks as per Chenle's instruction, but as far as he could tell, the food was fine to indulge—and indulge he did. He stood around staircases and listened to other people—the vampires—gossip, not understanding any of what they were talking about, still being fascinated by them nonetheless. It was really all so magical.

He adored their clothing. He and Chenle had stayed up for a long time outfit planning, and he was completely enamored with the outfit they had come up with. For the longest time while he was at the chateau, he had thought that others were in awe of his sense of fashion too, but it was only in the aftermath that he realized why there had been so many eyes on him. 

He doesn't think about whether or not things would have been different with Chenle. He doesn't want to break his own heart over and over again.

x

Chenle cries for him, and it's enough.

He hugs Haechan close, and it's enough. He tells him he's right to feel that way, that he's always going to be his best friend no matter what, that it wasn't his fault, and it's enough.

It's enough to pull him out of his fugue, to be granted with a sudden, all-consuming clarity about himself, his situation, what kind of power he has. 

"No matter what?" he sobs into Chenle's shirt even though he knows his answer, because he needs that last bit of affirmation, a final stone slotting into place. 

"No matter what," Chenle says. His hand is on the back of Haechan's head, holding him close—his only true security, the only kind he needs. 

"When will I see you again?" Chenle asks him. His face is red and tear-stained, and he's so, so perfect in the bright moonlight, his guardian angel, something outside himself that's still worth fighting for. 

Haechan doesn't ask him to run away with him, to leave all that he has to help stitch together his life. They make plans to meet somewhere in between, and Haechan marks the date, place, and time in his heart. A day to look forward to, from now until the end. The summer breeze is hot on his face when he kicks his horse into a gallop, but Haechan is convinced that the new flame burning in the pit of his soul is what dries his tears once and for all. 

x

Jaehyun asks him to take a tray of freshly cut fruit to Jeno, and Haechan absolutely _hates_ his shrewdness. 

Avoiding people in the castle is easy enough. Even if Haechan wasn't hell-bent on rotting in his room every day, he thinks it'd be difficult to see another human being regularly given the size and complexity of the entire place. But somehow Jaehyun was able to sleuth out how much he hated Jeno's presence, and he thought that direct confrontation would be the best way to deal with it. 

Haechan wants to throw all of the fruits out the nearest window, melt the silver tray over a flame into a puddle of nothing and leave it for Jaehyun to slip and break his back on. 

But they're just fantasies. He raps on Jeno's door lightly, opening it slowly when there's no answer.

His room is smaller than Haechan's. It's furnished with a queen-sized bed pushed up to one corner, a desk, a decently sized chestnut dresser, and a wooden chair. The chair lay on its side in the center of the room, beside it an oil lantern resting demurely on the stone floor. The fire inside is flickering erratically, and at the other end of the room he can see the profile of Jeno's face illuminated where he's sitting up against the side of the dresser, knees drawn to his chest. He doesn't turn to see who's intruded on him, doesn't even flinch as the heavy door slams shut with a sharp thud. 

Haechan steps around the chair, careful not to block too much of the light from the lantern. 

Somehow, in the sea of his blind hatred, Haechan hadn't considered what Jeno might look like—he isn't even sure he acknowledged he was a _person._ When he peeks his head into his field of vision he finds dark eyes staring back at him blankly, and a shiver runs up his spine. 

For a moment there's absolute zero, not even the light crackle of the fire reaching Haechan's ears. He lowers himself into an easy cross-legged position and sets the platter down lightly on the floor. He doesn't break eye contact. 

"Jaehyun asked me to bring these to you," he says quietly, though he doesn't know why. Jeno doesn't make any indication that he heard him; in fact, the only way Haechan can tell he's even alive is because he blinks, just once. There's a rising tension in his heart whose source he can't pinpoint. He thinks he might cry. 

"Please eat," he begs even quieter. He plucks a grape from the platter and holds it out to him. Jeno eyes it wordlessly for some moments before a hand slowly raises itself, palm up. It's trembling, and the candlelight accentuates the marks around his fingers and wrist where scars didn't heal properly. Haechan watches the grape disappear in his palm as it curls into a loose fist and hangs loosely from the top of his knee. Jeno blinks again before closing his eyes. 

Haechan doesn't leave his side. He can't tell if Jeno is asleep or not, but in their odd limbo _(is it right to call it ours?)_ he just watches the soft rise and fall of his chest, a reminder that the phantom in front of him is a breathing person after all. The heat from the lantern doesn't do a very good job of heating the room. Jaehyun is surprised to find them together, but he doesn't mention it. Somehow, Haechan suddenly doesn't care if he does or not. 

He likes the way Jeno looks at him, when he does. Like he isn't seeing anything worth batting an eyelash at. He has no reaction when Haechan smiles at him, which is often, and it only makes him smile wider. 

Most of the books in Jaehyun's library are old and boring, with pages that snap underfinger if he isn't careful. He spends a long time there looking for something, anything. He refuses to leave empty handed though, and he carries a wide book on the way back to Jeno's room. 

"Did you read this as a kid?" he sets the book down on the floor in front of Jeno. A crude, colorful drawing of a caterpillar takes up the entirety of the front cover, wide blue eyes staring back at them. Jeno blinks. "This was my favorite book. I read it all the time." 

Haechan scoots to sit closer to him and opens the book wide in his lap. It feels like he hasn't spoken in years, but he reads out loud to Jeno anyway, grateful for the simple language. As he's wont to, he can't help adding meaningless anecdotes about the art style or what fruits he likes personally or just why this caterpillar that was supposedly this hungry only ever ate holes through everything. Honestly, Haechan gets really into it—so much so that he almost doesn't even notice the way Jeno is smiling at the colorful pages. 

He looks so different when he's smiling, and Haechan can't help but stare. Jeno shifts slightly, hand reaching out to his lap. 

"Can I…?" he murmurs, light enough for his voice to disappear into the old air of the castle as soon as they escape his lips. Haechan sets the book in his lap and watches as he flips through the book again, back to front, his fingers feeling over the glossy pages like he had forgotten what it felt like to hold a book. 

Haechan won't call it love, but something deep and warm moves in his chest then and there, and he thinks he could float away then and there and be okay with it all.

x

There are birds. He sees them every day without fail, circling above on the wind like winged specters casting judgement upon him. They're difficult to see at night, but even then he knows they're still there because the cawing almost never stops. 

It never, never stops. 

Or maybe it's just his imagination. Sitting in the library alone, it doesn't really seem like it, but lately Haechan can't seem to tell for certain which way is up or down, left or right. It's nauseating, so he sets the book he had been trying to read down and tries to find something simpler, something that takes less brainpower. 

He pulls random books off the shelves, ones that are written in a language that's at least close to something modern. _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ had been the only childrens' book in the library as it would turn out, so now he was left with old manuscripts and crumbling novels and academic journals he can't make heads or tails of. 

He does find something eventually, and it's when he's flipping through the pages randomly a single line catches his eye. 

_It's not uncommon for vampires to kill their sires,_ a line of dialogue reads, and Haechan shuts the book hard and shoves it back on the shelf where he had grabbed it. 

He thinks about jumping into the garden pond and letting the water fill every iota of empty space in his body all the way up to his room, behind closed doors, and under the blanket.

x

When Jaehyun opens the door to him, he only gives a startled gasp before gently guiding him inside. 

He doesn't seem to mind the blood soaked in his shirt, in his hair, on nearly every exposed piece of skin and irreparably staining the expensive fabric Jaehyun had given him. He helps him get cleaned up, gives him food and water and a blanket, doesn't ask any questions, doesn't fill the space in between them with meaningless chatter. 

"Do you hate me?" the words come out of Haechan's mouth unbidden, his body moving before his mind can react—but the words don't even feel like they came from him. They're far away, words spoken from another person through which Haechan just happened to be the vessel. Jaehyun doesn't pause cleaning the wounds on his hands. The alcohol doesn't even sting.

"No, I don't hate you." 

"You don't know what I did." 

He looks Haechan in the eye then, but it's less like a knife and more like an olive branch. He watches pale green leaves dance in front of him and does nothing. "I don't need to, Haechan. I promised I'd take care of you while you're still a fledgling. You'll always have a home here, no matter what." 

Neither of them say anything more. The words don't seem to register within him in any way. They float overtop his skin, too weighty to sink beneath the pores and into his flesh. 

Though his sleep is dreamless that night, he barely makes it to the bathroom to vomit when he thinks about the night before. 

x

Mark isn't at the stables when he goes down. That's good, great, even. 

Haechan has never put tack on a horse before, and frankly, it doesn't go very well. The saddle is easy enough to get on, even if he underestimates its weight and nearly topples over as it throws his balance off; as for the bridle itself, he gives up on the embroidered leather and instead opts for a length of rope he finds in the equipment shed. The horse fights him at first, not willing to let him put his hands anywhere near its mouth, but he's only bitten twice by the time he finally gets it tied around its jaw and around its neck in makeshift reins. 

The horse stamps its hooves, a midnight beauty that, for good reason, has no faith in him. Its whinnies grow louder and louder as he leads it from the stable, and Haechan hushes it as they go along. 

"Please," he says, "Please, just tonight. Don't wake Jaehyun up." 

The horse holds still long enough for him to mount it, and he's grateful. He doesn't know the first thing about riding a horse. Chenle's family dabbled in racing, but he'd never seen their prized stallions up close; more than that, he'd never wanted to ride one before. He's not sure what's come over him now, but all he could think about today was sneaking out to the stables and roaming freely around the orchard. 

He makes it a couple yards away from the stable until the horse rears up and throws him off as if he weighed nothing. The ground was hard, and the grass not nearly tall enough to break his fall. He ends up with a dislocated shoulder and a deep bruise on his arm, which, considering the damage a horse could do to a man, he's grateful for.

It's hard to see the horse as it scurries off somewhere he doesn't know, blending in with the night like they were never meant to be separated.

Haechan trudges back to his room after struggling to relocate his shoulder, not bothering to change out of his clothes or see to his injuries proper. 

It's not his problem.

x

"Jeno, do you want to go back home?" 

Jeno sits at his desk, pen in hand even as it trembles. Haechan is happy he's trying. Color has been returning to his cheeks lately, and his weak arm is getting stronger. He wants Jeno to return to himself, more than anything. He stops suddenly and turns to look at him. 

"You want me to leave?" He still speaks so, so quietly, but Haechan's ears are perfectly tuned in, always. 

"I never want you to leave," Haechan reassures. "But I'm wondering what you want." 

Jeno looks at him for a moment or two, the light from the candle turning dark eyes into coffee-colored gems. Sunlight trickles in from behind the curtains, a gilded line falling across the bed and onto the wood floor between them. 

"I'm not there yet," is his answer, and then he turns back to his work. Haechan releases a breath he didn't know he had been holding. 

_Wherever Jeno goes, I'll go,_ Haechan decides then and there. 

He won't leave Jeno alone. 

x

Mark is an impossibly good teacher, the kind he wishes had been around for him back when he was in school. He smiles a lot, and is kind enough to fill in the gaps where Haechan can't speak for himself, can't ask for what he wants. 

Their lessons aren't formal by any means, and frankly, he hadn't expected to enjoy them as much as he does. Mark shows him how to mount a horse, how to put on its tack and bridle without hurting it (or himself), guides him around the orchard to practice his balance among other things. Sometimes he doesn't teach anything at all; sometimes he takes Haechan into the forest, and it's on these sojourns through the woods that he learns there's an obscenely complex system of trails and landmarks that guide passerby in the area. 

"Not that many people come by here, pretty much just me, but I guess this place used to be a lot busier." 

Haechan never says much, just listens to Mark talk. He has good things to say. 

"You could probably even get to the main city from here, you know. The vampires of yore were really into staying connected, even across long distances." 

"I can't imagine there's much I want to go to the city for," Haechan tells him, but even as he does, there's a single person on his mind. 

Mark doesn't say anything in response, and when Haechan turns his head he finds Mark regarding him with an odd look. 

"What?" 

"You remind me a little of myself when I was first turned," he says, and Haechan wishes he had said literally anything else. Noticing his change in mood, he continues "That's not a bad thing, you know. You're not alone in your grief." 

Mark is probably the last person he wants to talk about this with, but this is also as close as he's gotten to talking about it in the first place. He keeps his mouth shut and looks forward. 

"You'll be okay. I'll see to it."

Haechan waits until Mark has finally looked away to allow his frown to loosen up, and he prays that his hope won't be misplaced. 

x

Haechan still has one last bit of himself that hasn't been taken from him, that is and will always be irrevocably _his_ because nobody will ever know, nobody will ever have to know. 

He finds paper in Jaehyun's study, blank sheets of printer paper and abandoned notebooks he doesn't think he'll miss—and if he does, he'll know where to find them. He can't find any regular pencils, so he makes do with the cheapest looking fountain pen he can find, one that doesn't need an ink well. 

_It's a meditation,_ he tells himself. He fills the papers with his name on all six sides until there's a huge, black, illegible mass of ink; all that he is now, something only he can understand. His hand starts to hurt but he doesn't stop writing, doesn't want to let go again lest he fall into that pit of panic and despair. 

If Chenle were here, he would understand. Haechan can't remember a time Chenle had called him by his real name, and Haechan has decided that from now until the end of time no one else ever will. 

Lee Donghyuck is a corpse, his gray face bloated with maggots that others frown at, give nothing more than a pitiful glance, maybe a speck of life that will do nothing for a soul that's already left its shell. It's meaningless sentiment, but he can forgive them—because although Lee Donghyuck is dead, the Haechan that Chenle knows still draws breath. That has to be worth something. 

And if it isn't, he'll make it so.

x

"Doyoung came by while you were gone," Jaehyun tells him. He hadn't knocked this time before entering his room. It's mildly irritating, but he calms himself down, remembers all the times Jaehyun had stopped everything he was doing to give Haechan his full attention. The door hadn't been fully shut, anyway.

"Did he?" Haechan is still smoothing down his hair. He would never had it this neat before, but it's grown longer. The disheveled person he saw staring back at him was starting to unnerve him. 

"He was looking for you. I told him you were gone." 

There's still blood under his nails. The water from the sink turns the gentlest shade of pink as he scrubs it away. He's always had such soft skin. "I want to see him again," Haechan says. "But not now. I...I can't yet." 

Jaehyun nods. He's about to step out of the room again, but he peeks his head back into the bathroom. 

"You could send word by letter, if you like. Otherwise Taeyong might just come looking for you himself." He says it as a joke, but Haechan absolutely hates the idea of anyone coming to look for him, let alone the would-be-king. 

Nonetheless, he knows he owes Doyoung something, anything, even if it's just to let him know he's still alive. The more he considers it, the more he warms up to the idea. He might even be excited to write him a letter.

"I'd really like that, Jaehyun." he says, and he means it. 

Jaehyun lets him know where to find him once his letter is done. He gets to writing as soon as he leaves—he doesn't think he's ever thought this hard about a simple letter in his life. He's practically abusing his notebook with how many blank pages he rips out, only to toss them away halfway through when he changes his mind on what he wants to tell Doyoung. 

In the end, he decides on just telling him exactly what he told Jaehyun. _I want to see you, but I'm not ready yet. I'm sorry._ He thinks Doyoung will understand, and hopes to god that he does. 

He puts it out of his mind once the letter is sent, the small hawk perched on Jaehyun's arm taking off with his letter in a small capsule secured to its leg. He watches it until it's far over the horizon, a speck of dust in the air and then nothing, and puts it out of his mind for the rest of the day.

x

The horse is difficult to control tonight. It makes Haechan feel better, knowing he's not the only one tonight who can feel the heavy knot in his stomach wind tighter and tighter, something raw and honest fighting for a way out. 

That's what this is—honesty. Facing what he's been avoiding all this time now. There can never be any wrong in that. This he knows now, maybe it's the only thing he does. He lets it spur him forward, gripping the reins tightly while he tries to steer it in the right direction. 

The trail Jaehyun had taken through the woods is well worn and well maintained. There are large stones bordering the pathway every couple yards or so, bright white in the moonlight dappling the forest floor. It would be easier for him to shed his burden under the cover of complete darkness, but this is okay, too. If anyone has to bear witness, the pure, unbiased brilliance is the best he could ask for. This can stay between them. Nobody has to know. There's power in that.

As their ride continues, the horse seems to sense his resolve and becomes less inclined to throw him off at the nearest opportunity. Its ears are no longer bent backwards and the tension in its body begins to lessen. That's good. This is good. He's on the right track. 

Once upon a time, there was no way in hell Haechan would have traversed an empty wood alone. For all everyone knew him as a brash risk taker, there was always something about the stillness of a forest that put him on edge. Because he knew it was a farce. There were always leaves swaying in the breeze if you looked hard enough, always spiders quietly spinning their webs, always roots whispering to each other just underfoot for their ears and their ears alone. It wasn't real and Haechan couldn't stand not being privy to its ambience. 

He can't care now, though. In fact, now he would go as far as to say he feels comforted here. If he died here, nobody would hear, nobody would see. The earth would cradle him in its arms without judgement, he would be able to bear witness to the medium through which the flora and fauna spoke with each other. Here, his death would merely be a change of conditions and nothing more. There wouldn't be growing pains. There wouldn't be any pain at all. 

But more than that, right now the forest is his guide, leading him to the salvation he didn't know where or how to reach. He makes a mental note to pay it thanks some other time once this is all over.

_I won't ever stop,_ Haechan swears to himself. _I don't end here. I_ won't _end here._

_Who do you run for?_ the wind sings to him, and he hardly realizes how hard he's gripping the reins. His hands will smell like old leather and sweat later, and it's because of that he knows that he's alive, he's still alive, and nobody can take that from him.

I exist, I exist and I'm alive, he tells himself, first in his head, but then his lips are moving, his own personal mantra until the words seem to take on a life of their own, tear out of his throat and ring through this deep, dark woodscape and into the air and beyond, and that, that's how Haechan knows that it's good enough.

_I exist._

_I'm here._

_I'm alive._

_And that's enough._

**Author's Note:**

> if this fic hit for u i love u and u are not alone and u r stronger than you know and ur beautiful and amazing and deserve to be a person and nobody can ever take that away from you and that's the whole entire truth. you will heal. please be kind to yourself. time heals all wounds, i promise
> 
> song rec: [kimya dawson - loose lips](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khXlMiRmByQ)
> 
> "broken hearts hurt, but they make us strong."


End file.
